


Working class man.

by ImfictionWriting



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Barnsy!, For all of us who watched the pilot and went, Music, Real Jimmy B, what?, what?!?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:42:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26006662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImfictionWriting/pseuds/ImfictionWriting
Summary: For all of us who watched the Pilot and went, what?  Who, what?!?orYeah, Jimmy Barnes is actually a really nice guy.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 15





	Working class man.

**Author's Note:**

> Lucifer TV Show Characters not mine. Originals are. Just having fun.
> 
> All constructive criticism will be thoughtfully considered with a great deal of thanks in advance.  
> Please tell me of any and all oopsies. I do hope someone finds this entertaining.
> 
> The first time I watched the pilot, I seriously went huh? What? What?!

Last week, Sarah was average. A completely regular “working class person” sort of average. Next week she would be again. But this week she was extraordinary. At least that's what people kept telling her. Huh! Her family had told her to enjoy all the Kudos and let herself just have fun this week. The culmination of almost a years work, of early mornings and late nights. Missed dinners and foregone brunches. Work inspired that became inspiration awarded.

  
And now Sarah was in Los Angeles, giddy from the whirlwind of after awards parties and so many interviews she no longer remembered what she had spoken about with whom. Her mind overwhelmed by the amazement of winning and body exhausted from long days, lack of sleep and shoes that didn't quite fit right after a day's use.

  
Sarah had always spoken of the need to stand back, to watch, to remember rather than simply taking a photo of a moment and risk missing the experience. But today, after this week, she had no reserves left. Right now, this very instance she didn't really know where she was. Roger, the rep from the studio that had been tasked with assisting her the last two days and the next two before she headed back to Sydney was on the dance floor of the obviously popular club dancing within a group of two ladies and another gent. Sarah suspected that this club was more to his liking than the 'Piano Bar' that she had been promised as a quiet evening before another round of meetings tomorrow morning, more interviews in the afternoon and in the evening another round of parties.

  
Sarah wondered how the real stars, the directors and actors dealt with their wins if this was the treatment that a Costume Designer received. Although having seen the line around the block at this place, she was certainly glad that she'd been able to bypass the waiting line.

  
Sarah observed the colours of the bottles behind the bar and the lights. Then raised her phone and took a photo. Photos don't remember how your feet felt, how the music swelled and how the voices of those around her raised to overcome the sound of the thumping music. But the photo would record the juxtaposition of the coloured bottles nicely.

  
So far this week Sarah had been true to her promises that she would try to remember all she could, not simply take photos. Refrain from drinking, primarily so that she would remember all she could and continue to remain professional. And boy do these LA people like their early morning meetings! Being hungover, no matter what award you won seemed like a bad idea and as she had told her grown up daughter on the phone earlier today, late night their time, 'lets face it by Saturday I'll be home again and can drink all the wine I want to when I celebrate with my family and real friends back home'.

  
“You don't look like you are having a good time.” The tall British man said, standing next to her.

  
“I'm OK, I just wasn't expecting the whole 'dance club thing'.”

  
“Oh, you're Australian.”

  
“Yeah?” Sarah turned around to face the dark haired man fully. “So?” She asked.

  
“Just an observation.” The man took a sip of the liquor in his glass. “So, what do you think of my club?” He waved the glass to indicate the dancers.

  
“Oh, I'm more of a classic rock, girl.” Sarah saw that Roger hadn't slowed down in his dancing. This place was probably exclusive and he had used her win and the studio contacts to get in. Good luck to him, she thought. “But the drinks menu looked good.”

  
The dark haired man smiled and had another sip. “Can I get you one of those 'good looking drinks?'”

  
Sarah turned to look at the man fully, trying to figure out his angle. She was too old and too married to be being picked up and he was too good looking to be wasting his time with her average self. She narrowed her eyes, he wasn't one of those freaky awards junkies was he? He must have read her insecurity when he added.

  
“It's just nice to hear a non-American accent.”

  
Ah. Sarah smiled. “It's 9:30 at night the only drink I'd like now is a good cup of tea and a maybe a biscuit or two.”

  
“It's very difficult to get a 'good cup of tea' in this country.”

  
“Don't get me started and what they do to coffee is an absolute travesty.”

  
“You get used to it...” The man trailed off at her incredulous look, then held up a hand, the free fingers holding his glass also splayed up in a 'surrender' gesture. “You're right, you don't get used to it, more like you learn how to live with it.”

  
“Hmm, like family and a broken arm or something.”

  
The man laughed. “I'll have to tell my brother that.” He took another sip of his drink “There is good coffee around, you just have to search for it rather than have it at every corner like in Australia.”

The man indicated to a booth near them that had opened up and Sarah was happy to sit down and rest her feet.

  
“So, what are you doing here, if you are not enjoying yourself?”

  
“Oh, It's a nice break actually after the last two days.” It was nice not to talk about your job all the time. “I asked my, ...friend for a good piano bar recommendation.” Sarah pointed her clutch bag Roger's way. “I think he is having more fun than me, but that's OK, let him have it. I'll give it thirty minutes then get a taxi back to my hotel. I had to ask for a kettle. I've travelled a lot, but it never ceases to amaze me that you have to ask for a kettle in America.”

  
The man smiled, “Lucifer Morningstar, by the way.”

  
Sarah smiled, she really was in Los Angeles, she guessed. “Sarah Kouris.” He didn't blink to her name or make mention of the award. At least he wasn't an award junkie.

  
“You said you were more of a classic rock fan?”

  
“Yeah, gimme Aussie pub rock any day.”

  
“I'm not really that acquainted with the Australian music scene.”

  
“Oh, I listen to anything really, but I'll always have a soft spot for Jimmy Barnes...”

  
And that was the moment a perfectly ordinary conversation Sarah was having with a good looking but odd man in a club went south.  
“Jimmy Barnes! That, ...that... utter homunculus of a man.” Lucifer shouted stopping conversations in a three metre radius all around.

  
“Well, that's rude, he's a lovely man...”

  
“Lovely?!?!” He said in utter incredulity. He calmed down a moment, “The music producer?”

  
“Yeah, he's produced...” Sarah didn't get any further.

  
“Lovely? That, that... horrid, ...man.”

  
Sarah stood up, by this point she didn't know if this, Lucifer, was just itching for a fight, but there was no way that she would stay here and listen to this, ...insult to an Australian national treasure!  
“Yes, he IS a lovely man and an amazing singer. How dare you...”

  
“What do you mean singer? The Jimmy Barnes I know is an utter troll...”

  
“Jimmy Barnes, Cold Chisel, Jimmy Barnes. 40 odd albums, Australian national treasure, even though he was originally born in Scotland, he's ours now. 'Working Class Man', 'Lay Down Your Guns' and “Mustang Sally' Jimmy Barnes. Who are you talking about?” Her voice becoming louder and more strident with each word.

  
“Jimmy Barnes the psycho music producer who killed my friend Delilah...”

  
“Delilah, the singer? From that movie with Grey Cooper?”

  
“Yes. That Delilah.”

  
“Oh,” Her shoulders slumped, “I liked that movie. I liked her.”

  
“Me too until Jimmy Barnes paid someone to kill her.”

  
“I..., I think we are talking about two different people. The Jimmy I'm talking about is a singer.” Sarah sat back down. “Sorry about your friend, she was very talented.”

  
“Yes, yes she was.” Lucifer drank the last of his drink then raised his hand gaining the immediate attention of a passing server. “More of the same. You?” He indicated Sarah.

  
“Um, A lemonade I guess.” And a split second later with a louder voice. “I mean a Sprite, sorry.” They spoke the same language with different names for the same thing. And the same name for different things. She looked to the man who now looked slightly wide eyed and agitated. “Seriously the Jimmy I know of is a famous singer. He's a nice guy. But sorry to bring it up, I can see why it would upset you.”

  
“I apologise too, Ms Kouris. It is close to the anniversary of her, ...death.” The service here was prompt with the server returning with an icy lemonade for her and a large Whisky for Lucifer, who waved away the server when she opened her clutch to take out some cash. Sarah was partly glad, she had been in the US many times, but the payment system always freaked her out. She was used to paywave and mobile EFTPOS versus cash and the uncomfortable tipping system of America. She was never here long enough to quite get used to it.

  
“So in Australia Jimmy Barnes is a singer?” Lucifer took a sip of his drink. “Has a voice like an angel then, I suppose.” He said half smirking.

  
Sarah laughed into her lemonade and had to move the glass away from her face for fear of spilling it. It was fortunate she wasn't mid swallow. That would have been embarrassing. She used the square of serviette that was under the glass to dab at her lips then turned to the odd club owner. “Ah, no. He is notorious for shouting and screaming as he sings. He has a unique voice but it works for him. Certainly not like an angel. Imagine,” Sarah looked at the man, Lucifer Morningstar, a moment before continuing, “imagine the real devil and, say, twenty of his most tone deaf demons had gargled ground glass and smoked non stop for ten years then sang and all those voices were one voice shouting. That's pretty much Jimmy Barnes. But he makes it work.”

  
Lucifer was intrigued and dismayed. He was The Devil and he sang beautifully, thank you very much. The night had started pleasantly and now he was left with thinking of more unpleasant things.

  
“Well, I apologise that I insulted your singer, but for now, you were promised a Piano Bar experience. I would hate it if you left thinking that this is all Lux is. And also I think you should hear what the Devil singing really sounds like. If you'll excuse me.” With another wave the lights and the sounds of the club dimmed as the thump-thump receded and a piano was pushed into the center of what was the dance floor. Sarah smiled and raised her glass of lemonade in Lucifer's direction then sat back to listen. Perhaps Roger had been right all along.

Early the next morning after the club had shut down, the last customer sent home and the staff were in the processes of closing up for the night, Lucifer made his way to his Penthouse. Happily alone for once. It had been a nice night. Many hours earlier saying good bye to a new acquaintance that he had spent a happy hour chatting with. Pleasantly surprised to learn that she was a talented designer who had won an Oscar just that week. Lucifer had always liked talking with those that excelled in their fields.

  
He unlinked his cuff-links and rolled up his sleeves turning to his private bar and pouring yet another drink. Without The Detective being around it effected him as much as water did. But it was such tasty, tasty water and he took another sip.

  
He pulled out his phone and curiosity arose as he loaded up 'Australian Jimmy Barnes' in his search engine of choice and pressed 'done'.

  
Lucifer had always liked the song 'Mustang Sally' let's start there.

**Author's Note:**

> It amuses me the whole 'He sing's like an Angel?' 'No, more like a Devil.' Idea.
> 
> Oh and the Mustang Sally tie in, with Jimmy and why Tom Ellis gets to sing on Lucifer.
> 
> Yay S5 tomorrow!


End file.
